#;au

Even though so much time had passed, Syldor still thought back on his time with Elaina with fondness, perhaps more than that, if he was being fully honest with himself. A dalliance with a human, or anyone for that matter, was never part of the plan. But when a broken carriage all of those years ago led to a stay in Byroden, all hopes of a plan were tossed to the wayside. And how could they not? Anyone with eyes could see that Elaina was beautiful. But beyond that, she was kind, clever, and so much. 

While it was meant only to be a one time thing, Syldor soon found himself looking for, and finding, more reasons to pass by Byroden, extending his stay more and more each time. But eventually, his own career and responsibilities caught up with him, and as much as he didn’t want to, he was forced to say goodbye to Elaina for a final time. 

His hazel eyes continued to look back at Elaina, though a flinch was just barely visible; there were many ways she could finish that sentence, and none of them painted him in a very kindly light. Although he could not blame her; he was sure there were better ways he could have ended things than a letter. But in reality, he knew if he was forced to see Elaina, he wouldn’t be strong enough to do what he had to do. 

Modern Zhongli au where he is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company called “I Will Have Mower”, a lawn mower company that sells quality mowers and other lawn care necessities.

Christmas Headcanons { Peter/Roman | accepting )

•     🎄     Roman asks Peter, “have you ever seen Krampus...?” 👀 Roman rents it on his SmartTV. Peter and Roman proceed to decorate an absurdly tall Xmas tree while Krampus plays extra loud and violent in the background. And that’s the story of how they got a “fucking metal” Christmas tree—Peter’s words. 🤘🏻

•     ⛄️     Snow ball fights are ruthless. When Roman gets home from work, he has to carefully slip out of his car, looking both ways ANXIOUS as he walks up the driveway. If he doesn’t watch his back, Peter EMERGES from the tree line and pelts Roman’s broad back with tightly formed snowballs that cause Roman to double up and curse out, “ASS-HOLE!” 😤 When Peter runs out of ‘ammunition’, Roman gives chase and—with his long legs—eventually gets Peter back, tackling him in a pile of snow deep enough to mush Peter’s shaggy head in. “You deserved it,” Roman pants, straddling Peter’s back. Both Peter and Roman’s clothes are caked in freezing snow. Roman’s nose begins to dribble from the cold. He sniffles as he helps Peter up. The boys dust each other off. “I can build you a snowman tomorrow?” Peter offers, grinning in the half-moonlight as the two trudge on back towards Roman’s house. “There are... o-other ways to get me to tackle you,” Roman shivers, pulling his jacket closed tighter.

•     ☕️     After the boys go inside, they rummage through Roman’s pantry for a box of hot chocolate but find none. In the laundry room, Roman and Peter strip their snow soaked clothes off and put what they can in the dryer. Roman offers Peter some of his clean laundry but Peter opts for only pants, insisting he ‘runs warm’. Roman dresses and goes out into the living room to Peter. “Are there anymore horror-Christmas films?” Peter wonders aloud as Roman joins him on the sofa. “Oh I’m sure,” Roman sounds hopeful as he grabs the remote control and looks for something for the two of them to settle in with for the evening. Halfway through the movie, Roman notices Peter has fallen asleep. And to Roman, Peter looks... cold—Peter with his arms crossed tightly across his furry chest. Roman turns to reach for a throw blanket draped over the arm of the sofa. But before Roman can collect it, Peter’s sleeping form slumps against Roman’s side. Roman doesn’t want to move—he doesn’t want to wake him. Instead, Roman carefully lifts his arm so Peter can settle more comfortable with the side of his head pillowed in Roman’s lap. Roman watches the rest of the movie with his arm draped over Peter’s back and his fingers gingerly raking through Peter’s gypsy-long hair.

•     🎁     When the big day comes—Christmas, that is, Roman flubs Peter’s gift entirely. Roman pesters Destiny everyday to tell him ‘what Peter would want’. But Destiny would always insist, “Peter’s not like that—you can’t just ‘buy’ him with things.” Roman rolls his eyes at Peter’s cousin more times than he can count and winds up with NOTHING for Peter under their Christmas tree. 🥺 Luckily, at the last minute, Roman decides his gift will be a proposition: “what if you move in? Officially?” Roman shrugs and gestures to the great big place he has all to himself, “you can have a room... or.. share mine?” Roman seems a little nervous to ask but, he’s serious. He thinks it would be nice.

In Coal Creek, West Virginia, driving past thickets of trees and brush on the route home, Willard rides alone and thinks of Charlotte—his late wife—and how she ought to have been there with him, making the journey to Emma Russell’s to see their boy all grown up.

Willard smokes and remembers riding the same path years ago with his uncle, Earskell, who was bringing Willard home to his mother, Emma, after the war.

As many trees rush past the truck in motion, Willard can imagine his mother’s face and his uncle’s very clearly.

To him, maybe they looked even more like themselves now than they did the last time Willard had seen them. Age lines, after all, only deepen and multiply with time. Arvin. Arvin. When Willard had last seen Arvin’s face, the boy was still carrying baby fat in his cheeks and was no bigger than the suitcase Willard made him lug up the hill to his grandmother’s when Charlotte Russell had left this earth.

Charlotte.

When Willard looked back and thought on his wife, his memory liked to remember her best when she was the happiest. Arvin was only a baby then and sat like a flour sack happy and healthy in his mother’s aproned-lap while she sang to him; Charlotte was healthy then, too.

The road to Emma Russell’s begins to wind around a big ol’ pine tree that marked the end of the unpaved driveway. All four tires on the pickup truck ease to a stop. Willard kills the engine but he cannot open his door to get out and face his family inside of the home.

His hands are gripping the steering wheel as he feels the heart in his chest beat in a cowardly way—uneven, like there was a wounded bird flapping around in there.

Willard wished he had something to drink.